Then suddenly I realize. It's Aidan from the smoothie bar.
'Is everything all right?' he's saying. 'Are you OK?'
For a few moments I can't quite reply. All my emotions have been scattered on the floor like a dropped tea tray, and I'm not sure which one to pick up first.
'I think that would have to be a no,' I say at last. 'I'm not OK. I'm not OK at all.'
'Oh.' He looks alarmed. 'Well … is there anything I can—'
'Would you be OK if all your secrets had been revealed on television by a man you trusted?' I say shakily. 'Would you be OK if you'd just been mortified in front of all your friends and colleagues and family?'
There's a bemused silence.
'Would you?'
'Er … probably not?' he hazards hurriedly.
'Exactly! I mean, how would you feel if someone revealed in public that you … you wore women's underwear?'
He turns pale with shock.
'I don't wear women's underwear!'
'I know you don't wear women's underwear!' I expostulate. 'Or rather, I don't know that you don't, but just assuming for a moment that you did. How would you like it if someone just told everyone in a so-called business interview on television?'
Aidan stares at me, as though his mind is suddenly putting two and two together.
'Wait a moment. That interview with Jack Harper. Is that what you're talking about? We had it on in the smoothie bar.'
'Oh great!' I throw my hands in the air. 'Just great! Because you know, it would be a shame if anyone in the entire universe had missed it.'
'So, that's you? Who reads fifteen horoscopes a day and lies about her …' He breaks off at my expression. 'Sorry. Sorry. You must be feeling very hurt.'
'Yes. I am. I'm feeling hurt. And angry. And embarrassed.'
And I'm confused, I add silently. I'm so confused and shocked and bewildered I feel as though I can barely keep my balance on this bench. In the space of a few minutes, my entire world has turned upside down.
I thought Jack loved me. I thought he—
I thought he and I—
A searing pain suddenly hits me, and I bury my head in my hands.
'So, how did he know so much about you?' Aidan's saying tentatively. 'Are you and he … an item?'
'We met on a plane.' I look up, trying to keep control of myself. 'And … I spent the entire journey telling him everything about myself. And then we went on a few dates, and I thought …' My voice is starting to jump about. 'I honestly thought it might be … you know.' I feel my cheeks flame crimson. 'The real thing. But the truth is, he was never interested in me, was he? Not really. He just wanted to find out what an ordinary girl-on-the-street was like. For his stupid target market. For his stupid new women's line.'
As the realization hits me properly for the first time, a tear rolls down my cheek, swiftly followed by another one.
Jack used me.
That's why he asked me out to dinner. That's why he was so fascinated by me. That's why he found everything I said so interesting. That's why he was gripped.
It wasn't love. It was business.
Suddenly, without meaning to, I give a sob.
'I'm sorry,' I gulp. 'I'm sorry. I just … it's just been such a shock.'
'Don't worry,' says Aidan sympathetically. 'It's a completely natural reaction.' He shakes his head. 'I don't know much about big business, but it seems to me these guys don't get to the top without trampling over a few people on the way. They'd have to be pretty ruthless to be so successful.' He pauses, watching as I try, only half successfully, to stop my tears. 'Emma, can I offer a word of advice?'
'What?' I look up, wiping my eyes.
'Take it out in your kick-boxing. Use the aggression. Use the hurt.'
I stare at him in disbelief. Was he not listening?
'Aidan, I don't do kick-boxing!' I hear myself crying shrilly. 'I don't kick-box, OK? I never have!'
'You don't?' He looks confused. 'But you said—'
'I was lying!'
There's a short pause.
'Right,' says Aidan at last. 'Well … no worries! You could go for something with lower impact. T'ai Chi, maybe …' He gazes at me uncertainly. 'Listen, do you want a drink? Something to calm you down? I could make you a mango-banana blend with camomile flowers, throw in some soothing nutmeg.'
'No thanks.' I blow my nose, take a deep breath, then reach for my bag. 'I think I'll go home, actually.'
'Will you be OK?'
'I'll be fine.' I force a smile. 'I'm fine.'
Of course we weren't soulmates. Of course he wasn't genuinely interested in me. Of course he never loved me.
A fresh pain rushes through me and I scrabble for a tissue.
'Don't worry, darling!' says a large lady sitting to my left, wearing a voluminous print dress covered with pineapples. 'He's not worth it! Now you just go home, wash your face, have a nice cup of tea …'
'How do you know she's crying over a man?' chimes in a woman in a dark suit aggressively. 'That is such a cliched, counter-feminist perspective. She could be crying over anything! A piece of music, a line of poetry, world famine, the political situation in the Middle East.' She looks at me expectantly.
'Actually, I was crying over a man,' I admit.
The tube stops, and the woman in the dark suit rolls her eyes at us and gets out. The pineapple lady rolls her eyes back.
'World famine!' she says scornfully, and I can't help giving a half-giggle. 'Now, don't you worry, love.' She gives me a comforting pat on the shoulder as I dab at my eyes. 'Have a nice cup of tea, and a few nice chocolate digestives, and have a nice chat with your mum. You've still got your mum, haven't you?'
'Actually, we're not really speaking at the moment,' I confess.
'Well then, your dad?'
Tacitly, I shake my head.
'Well … how about your best friend? You must have a best friend!' The pineapple lady gives me a comforting smile.
'Yes, I have got a best friend,' I gulp. 'But she's just been informed on national television that I've been having secret lesbian fantasies about her.'
The pineapple lady stares at me silently for a few moments.
'Have a nice cup of tea,' she says at last, with less conviction. 'And … good luck, dear.'
I've known Lissy a long time. And I've had plenty of embarrassing moments in front of her. But none of them comes anywhere near this.
This is worse than the time when I threw up in her parents' bathroom. This is worse than the time she saw me kissing my reflection in the mirror and saying 'ooh, baby' in a sexy voice. This is even worse than the time she caught me writing a Valentine to our maths teacher, Mr Blake.
I am hoping against hope that she might have suddenly decided to go out for the day or something. But as I open the front door of the flat, there she is, coming out of the kitchen into the hall. And as she looks at me, I can already see it in her face. She's completely freaked out.
So that's it. Not only has Jack betrayed me. He's ruined my best friendship, too. Things will never be the same between me and Lissy again. It's just like When Harry Met Sally. Sex has got in the way of our relationship, and now we can't be friends any more because we want to sleep together.
No. Scratch that. We don't want to sleep together. We want to – No, the point is we don't want to—
Anyway. Whatever. It's not good.
'Oh!' she says, staring at the floor. 'Gosh! Um … hi, Emma!'
'Hi!' I reply in a strangled voice. 'I thought I'd come home. The office was just too … too awful …'
I tail off, and there's the most excruciating, prickling silence for a few moments.
'So … I guess you saw it,' I say at last.
'Yes, I saw it,' says Lissy, still staring at the floor, 'And I …' She clears her throat. 'I just wanted to say that … that if you want me to move out, then I will.'
A lump comes to my throat. I knew it. After twenty-one years, our friendship is over. One tiny secret comes out – and that's the end of everything.
'It's OK,' I say, trying not to burst into tears. 'I'll move out.'
'No!' says Lissy awkwardly. 'I'll move out. This isn't your fault, Emma. It's been me who's been … leading you on.'
'What?' I stare at her. 'Lissy, you haven't been leading me on!'
'Yes I have.' She looks stricken. 'I feel terrible. I just never realized you had … those kind of feelings.'
'I don't!'
'But I can see it all now! I've been walking around half-dressed, no wonder you were frustrated!'
'I wasn't frustrated,' I say quickly. 'Lissy, I'm not a lesbian.'
'Bisexual, then. Or "multi-oriented". Whatever term you want to use.'
'I'm not bisexual, either! Or multi-whatever it was.'
'Emma, please!' Lissy grabs my hand. 'Don't be ashamed of your sexuality. And I promise, I'll support you a hundred per cent, whatever choice you decide to make—'
'Lissy, I'm not bisexual!' I cry. 'I don't need support! I just had one dream, OK? It wasn't a fantasy, it was just a weird dream, which I didn't intend to have, and it doesn't mean I'm a lesbian, and it doesn't mean I fancy you, and it doesn't mean anything.'
'Oh.' There's silence. Lissy looks taken aback. 'Oh, right. I thought it was a … a … you know.' She clears her throat. 'That you wanted to …'
'No! I just had a dream. Just one, stupid dream.'
'Oh. Right.'
There's a long pause, during which Lissy looks intently at her fingernails, and I study the buckle of my watch.
'So, did we actually …' says Lissy at last.
Oh God.
'Kind of,' I admit.
'And … was I any good?'
'What?' I gape at her.
'In the dream.' She looks straight at me, her cheeks bright pink. 'Was I any good?'
'Lissy …' I say, pulling an agonized face.
'I was crap, wasn't I? I was crap! I knew it.'
'No, of course you weren't crap!' I exclaim. 'You were … you were really …'
I cannot believe I'm seriously having a conversation about my best friend's sexual prowess as a dream lesbian.
'Look, can we just leave the subject? My day has been embarrassing enough already.'
'Oh. Oh God, yes,' says Lissy, suddenly full of remorse. 'Sorry. Emma. You must be feeling really …'
'Totally and utterly humiliated and betrayed?' I try to give a smile. 'Yup, that's pretty much how I feel.'
'Did anyone at the office see it, then?' says Lissy sympathetically.
'Did anyone at the office see it?' I wheel round. 'Lissy, they all saw it. They all knew it was me! And they were all laughing at me, and I just wanted to curl up and die …'
'Oh God,' says Lissy in distress. 'Really?'
'It was awful.' I close my eyes as fresh mortification washes over me. 'I have never been more embarrassed in my entire life. I have never felt more … exposed. The whole world knows I find G-strings uncomfortable and I don't really kick-box, and I've never read Dickens.' My voice is wobbling more and more, and then, with no warning, I give a huge sob. 'Oh God, Lissy. You were right. I feel such a complete … fool. He was just using me, right from the beginning. He was never really interested in me. I was just a … a market research project.'
'You don't know that!' she says in dismay.
'I do! Of course I do. That's why he was gripped. That's why he was so fascinated by everything I said. It wasn't because he loved me. It was because he realized he had his target customer, right next to him. The kind of normal, ordinary, girl-on-the-street he would never normally give the time of day to!' I give another huge sob. 'I mean, he said it on the television, didn't he? I'm just a nothing-special girl.'
'You are not,' says Lissy fiercely. 'You are not nothing-special!'
'I am! That's exactly what I am. I'm just an ordinary nothing. And I was so stupid, I believed it all. I honestly thought Jack loved me. I mean, maybe not exactly loved me.' I feel myself colour. 'But … you know. Felt about me like I felt about him.'
'I know.' Lissy looks like she wants to cry herself. 'I know you did.' She leans forward and gives me a huge hug.
Suddenly she draws awkwardly away. 'This isn't making you feel uncomfortable, is it? I mean, it's not … turning you on or anything—'
'Lissy, for the last time, I'm not a lesbian!' I cry in exasperation.
'OK!' she says hurriedly. 'OK. Sorry.' She gives me another tight hug, then stands up. 'Come on,' she says. 'You need a drink.'
'I just can't believe it,' says Lissy, sighing for the thousandth time. 'I can't believe it was all made up. It was all so romantic. Changing his mind about going to America … and the bus … and bringing you that pink cocktail …'
'But that's the point.' I can feel tears rising again, and fiercely blink them back. 'That's what makes it so humiliating. He knew exactly what I would like. I told him on the plane I was bored with Connor. He knew I wanted excitement, and intrigue, and a big romance. He just fed me everything he knew I'd like. And I believed it – because I wanted to believe it.'
'You honestly think the whole thing was one big plan?' Lissy bites her lip.
'Of course it was a plan,' I say tearfully. 'He deliberately followed me around, he watched everything I did, he wanted to get into my life! Look at the way he came and poked around my bedroom. No wonder he seemed so bloody interested. I expect he was taking notes all the time. I expect he had a Dictaphone in his pocket. And I just … invited him in.' I take a deep gulp of schnapps and give a little shudder. 'I am never going to trust a man again. Never.'
'But he seemed so nice!' says Lissy dolefully. 'I just can't believe he was being so cynical.'
'Lissy …' I look up. 'The truth is, a man like that doesn't get to the top without being ruthless and trampling over people. It just doesn't happen.'
'Doesn't it?' She stares back at me, her brow crumpled. 'Maybe you're right. God, how depressing.'
'Is that Emma?' comes a piercing voice, and Jemima appears on the balcony in a white robe and face mask, her eyes narrowed furiously. 'So! Miss I-never-borrow-your-clothes. What have you got to say about my Prada slingbacks?'
Oh God. There's no point lying about it, is there?
'They're really pointy and uncomfortable?' I say with a little shrug, and Jemima inhales sharply.
'I knew it! I knew it all along. You do borrow my clothes. What about my Joseph jumper? What about my Gucci bag?'
'Which Gucci bag?' I shoot back defiantly.
For moment Jemima flounders for words.
'All of them!' she says at last. 'You know, I could sue you for this. I could take you to the cleaners!' She brandishes a piece of paper at me. 'I've got a list here of items of apparel which I fully suspect have been worn by someone other than me during the last three months—'
'Oh shut up about your stupid clothes,' says Lissy. 'Emma's really upset. She's been completely betrayed and humiliated by the man she thought loved her.'
'Well, surprise, surprise, let me just faint with shock,' says Jemima tartly. 'I could have told you that was going to happen. I did tell you! Never tell a man all about yourself, it's bound to lead to trouble. Did I not warn you?'
'You said she wouldn't get a rock on her finger!' exclaims Lissy. 'You didn't say, he will pitch up on television, telling the nation all her private secrets. You know, Jemima, you could be a bit more sympathetic.'
'No, Lissy, she's right,' I say miserably. 'She was completely right all along. If I'd just kept my stupid mouth shut, then none of this would have happened.' I reach for the schnapps bottle and morosely pour myself another glass. 'Relationships are a battle. They are a chess game. And what did I do? I just threw all my chess pieces down on the board at once, and said, "Here! Have them all!"' I take a gulp of my drink. 'The truth is, men and women should tell each other nothing. Nothing.'
'I couldn't agree more,' says Jemima. 'I'm planning to tell my future husband as little as possible—' She breaks off as the cordless phone in her hand gives a shrill ring.
'Hi!' she says, switching it on. 'Camilla? Oh. Er … OK. Just hang on a moment.'
She puts her hand over the receiver and looks at me, wide-eyed. 'It's Jack!' she mouths.
I stare back in utter shock.
Somehow I'd almost forgotten Jack existed in real life. All I can see is that face on the television screen, smiling and nodding and slowly leading me to my humiliation.
'Tell him Emma doesn't want to speak to him!' hisses Lissy.
'No! She should speak to him,' hisses back Jemima. 'Otherwise he'll think he's won.'
'But surely—'
'Give it to me!' I say, and grab the phone out of Jemima's hand, my heart thumping. 'Hi,' I say, in as curt a tone as I can muster.
'Emma, it's me,' comes Jack's familiar voice, and with no warning, I feel a rush of emotion which almost overwhelms me. I want to cry. I want to hit him, hurt him …
But somehow, I keep control of myself.
'I never want to speak to you again,' I say. I switch off the phone, breathing rather hard.
'Well done!' says Lissy.
An instant later the phone rings again.
'Please, Emma,' says Jack, 'just listen for a moment. I know you must be very upset. But if you just give me a second to explain—'
'Didn't you hear me?' I exclaim, my face flushing. 'You used me and you humiliated me and I never want to speak to you again, or see you, or hear you or … or …'
'Taste you,' hisses Jemima, nodding urgently.
'… or touch you again. Never ever. Ever.' I switch off the phone, march inside and yank the line out of the wall. Then, with trembling hands, I get my mobile out of my bag and, just as it begins to ring, switch it off.
'I'm fine. I think.' I sink onto a chair. 'A bit shaky.'
'Now, Emma,' says Jemima, examining one of her cuticles. 'I don't want to rush you. But you know what you have to do, don't you?'
'What?'
'You have to get your revenge!' She looks up and fixes me with a determined gaze. 'You have to make him pay.'
'Oh no.' Lissy pulls a face. 'Isn't revenge really undignified? Isn't it better just to walk away?'
'What good is walking away?' retorts Jemima. 'Will walking away teach him a lesson? Will walking away make him wish he'd never crossed you?'
'Emma and I have always agreed we'd rather keep the moral high ground,' says Lissy determinedly. '"Living well is the best revenge." George Herbert.'
Jemima stares at her blankly for a few seconds.
'So anyway,' she says at last, turning back to me. 'I'd be delighted to help. Revenge is actually quite a speciality of mine, though I say it myself …'
I avoid Lissy's eyes.
'What did you have in mind?'
'Scrape his car, shred his suits, sew fish inside his curtains and wait for them to rot …' Jemima reels off instantly, as though reciting poetry.
'Did you learn that at finishing school?' says Lissy, rolling her eyes.
'I'm being a feminist, actually,' retorts Jemima. 'We women have to stand up for our rights. You know, before she married my father, Mummy went out with this scientist chap who practically jilted her. He changed his mind three weeks before the wedding, can you believe it? So one night she crept into his lab and pulled out all the plugs of his stupid machines. His whole research was ruined! She always says, that taught Emerson!'
'Emerson?' says Lissy, staring at her in disbelief. 'As in … Emerson Davies?'
'That's right! Davies.'
'Emerson Davies who nearly discovered a cure for smallpox?'
'Well, he shouldn't have messed Mummy about, should he?' says Jemima, lifting her chin mutinously. She turns to me. 'Another of Mummy's tips is chilli oil. You somehow arrange to have sex with the chap again, and then you say. "How about a little massage oil?" And you rub it into his … you know.' Her eyes sparkle. 'That'll hurt him where it counts!'
'Your mother told you this?' says Lissy.
'Yes,' says Jemima. 'It was rather sweet, actually. On my eighteenth birthday she sat me down and said we should have a little chat about men and women—'
Lissy is staring at her incredulously.
'In which she instructed you to rub chilli oil into men's genitals?'
'Only if they treat you badly,' says Jemima in annoyance. 'What is your problem, Lissy? Do you think you should just let men walk all over you and get away with it? Great blow for feminism.'
'I'm not saying that,' says Lissy. 'I just wouldn't get my revenge with … chilli oil!'
'Well, what would you do then, clever clogs?' says Jemima, putting her hands on her hips.
'OK,' says Lissy. 'If I was going to stoop so low as get my revenge, which I never would because personally I think it's a huge mistake …' She pauses for breath. 'I'd do exactly what he did. I'd expose one of his secrets.'
'Actually … that's rather good,' says Jemima grudgingly.
'Humiliate him,' says Lissy, with a tiny air of vindication. 'Embarrass him. See how he likes it.'
They both turn and look at me expectantly.
'But I don't know any of his secrets,' I say.
'You must do!' says Jemima.
'Of course you do!'
'I don't,' I say, feeling a fresh humiliation. 'Lissy, you had it right all along. Our relationship was completely one-sided. I shared all my secrets with him – but he didn't share any of his with me. He didn't tell me anything. We weren't soulmates. I was a completely deluded moron.'
'Emma, you weren't a moron,' says Lissy, putting a sympathetic hand on mine. 'You were just trusting.'
'Trusting – moron – it's the same thing.'
'You must know something!' says Jemima. 'You slept with him, for goodness sake! He must have some secret. Some weak point.'
'An Achilles' heel,' puts in Lissy, and Jemima gives her an odd look.
'It doesn't have to be to do with his feet,' she says, and turns to me, pulling a 'Lissy's lost it' face. 'It could be anything. Anything at all. Think back!'
I close my eyes obediently and cast my mind back. But my mind's swirling a bit, from all that schnapps. Secrets … Jack's secrets … think back …
Scotland. Suddenly a coherent thought passes through my mind. I open my eyes, feeling a tingle of exhilaration. I do know one of his secrets. I do!
'What?' says Jemima avidly. 'Have you remembered something?'
'He …' I stop, feeling torn.
I did make a promise to Jack. I did promise.
But then, so what? So bloody what? My chest swells in emotion again. Why on earth am I keeping any stupid promise to him? It's not like he kept my secrets to himself, is it?
'He was in Scotland!' I say triumphantly. 'The first time we met after the plane, he asked me to keep it a secret that he was in Scotland.'
'Why did he do that?' says Lissy.
'I dunno.'
'What was he doing in Scotland?' puts in Jemima.
'I dunno.'
There's a pause.
'Hmm,' says Jemima kindly. 'It's not the most embarrassing secret in the world, is it? I mean, plenty of smart people live in Scotland. Haven't you got anything better? Like … does he wear a chest wig?'
'A chest wig!' Lissy gives an explosive snort of laughter. 'Or a toupee!'
'Of course he doesn't wear a chest wig. Or a toupee,' I retort indignantly. Do they honestly think I'd go out with a man who wore a toupee?
'Well then, you'll have to make something up,' says Jemima. 'You know, before the affair with the scientist, Mummy was treated very badly by some politician chap. So she made up a rumour that he was taking bribes from the Communist party, and passed it round the House of Commons. She always says, that taught Dennis a lesson!'
'Not … Dennis Llewellyn?' Lissy says.
'Er, yes, I think that was him.'
'The disgraced Home Secretary?' Lissy looks aghast. 'The one who spent his whole life fighting to clear his name and ended up in a mental institution?'
'Well, he shouldn't have messed Mummy around, should he?' says Jemima, sticking out her chin. A bleeper goes off in her pocket. 'Time for my footbath!'
As she disappears back into the house, Lissy rolls her eyes.
'She's nuts,' she says. 'Totally nuts. Emma, you are not making anything up about Jack Harper.'
'I won't make anything up!' I say indignantly. 'Who do you think I am? Anyway.' I stare into my schnapps, feeling my exhilaration fade away. 'Who am I kidding? I could never get my revenge on Jack. I could never hurt him. He doesn't have any weak points. He's a huge, powerful millionaire.' I take a miserable slug of my drink. 'And I'm a nothing-special … crappy … ordinary … nothing.'